In the Beginning...

Ah, the dreaded first post of a new blog. When you are positive you have something important to tell the world, but don't feel like you can just jump in with the telling. The world, after all, doesn't know you yet.
Your special kind of crazy needs a little introduction.
But you don't want to make it feel like an awkward first date where you're spilling all sorts of weird little factoids about yourself into the other person's ear holes (I have one brother), or even worse, one of those horrible Match.com profiles where you're obviously trying really hard to make yourself seem much more interesting than you actually are. Like we all haven't Googled "Witty ways to describe your boring self online".
(Sidenote: Watching Top Chef doesn't actually mean you can check the box marked "cooking" on the 'Interests' page. Stop doing that, people. Your interest is television.)
Hmmm, back to the topic. Which, in case you were wondering, is just exactly how hard it is to sum yourself up in one post without it sounding like a personal ad or a desperate written explosion of every thought you've ever had.
It needs to reflect who you are and what you're going to write about. It needs to be catchy and entertaining if you have even half a shot at gaining followers. It needs to seem like you're amazing and wonderful.
You probably are. But can you seem that way, on cue, without any further information being given?
I don't think I can, so your best bet, dear reader, is to keep clicking. Eventually the amazing and wonderful will show up.
Or, you know, it won't, but the crazy and dramatic will be around. Either way, you get a glimpse into someone else's corner of the interwebs, and isn't that voyeuristic freedom and morbid curiosity why we all read blogs?

This is not my first blog. My first blog was a dismal failure with exactly three readers. I'm pretty sure my mother was one of them. Then I had another one, but major depressive disorder kept me from keeping that up. Instead of picking up where I left off, I started a different one, which failed after I met a guy and got happy. Seems I'm only funny (even if just to myself) when I'm miserable. Also, moving and such took up all my free brain space that wasn't already occupied with obsessing over the windshield wipers. Then I started my last blog, which was super cool. I made friends and gained loyal readers and was all sorts of happy with my burgeoning internet fame. Until a family member found it and it totally changed the course of history.
Plus, lawyers were involved.
However, writing is sort of my thing. It's my escape and outlet, my creative passion, my avenue for self-expression, and my coping mechanism.
Writing for an audience, however small, motivates me, keeps me centered and honest, and also feeds my out of control narcissism that demands I be loved and revered and treasured among the masses. Even if the mass is one person who doesn't live in my head.
So, here I am, again. Stick around, because even if it doesn't get better (spoiler alert: it probably gets worse), it will be (for at least as long as it lasts) real.